Inspired By The Ideas Of Werner Erhard

And More

Thank A Vet

February 1, 2016

He
stood
there in the gym
locker room
at the sink next to mine, shaving (as was I), not
speaking,
a genteel looking elderly man, white haired, balding. I noticed he had
a metal brace encasing his left leg from well above the knee, all the
way down to and including his foot. I asked him "How did you hurt
yourself?" (it was none of my
business
really, yet it seemed OK to ask). "What do you mean?" he responded
(clearly
I was more aware of his leg brace than he was). "Sorry, I didn't mean
to pry, but I noticed your brace.
What happened
to your leg?" I persisted.

"Oh that" he said, rinsing his razor under the faucet,
moving his leg slightly out to the side, looking down at it, "Agent
Orange". "Oh! So you got the brace when you were in Vietnam?" I asked.
"No, about a month ago" he said. He then told me how long term effects
of Agent Orange, the defoliant indiscriminately deployed by the United
States military in Vietnam, are still not fully understood. They can
show updecades
later in those exposed to it. His failing leg was one such unexpected
delayed effect. The irony of it was he'd escaped the horrors of the
Vietnam war relatively unscathed, only to have his leg suddenly buckle
under him one day, unable to bear his weight thirty five years
later.

Suddenly
my mouth
was no longer in chit-chatbanter
and blab mode. All of a sudden every
word
counted. I said "I sure hope the Veterans Administration is taking good
care of you and giving you all the
attention
you deserve?" (you know, even that sounded so
lame as soon as I'd said it). He didn't respond. A long
moment went by. Still no response. So I turned my head and looked over
at him. He'd put his hand holding his razor, down at the side of the
sink. His head was bowed. Then I saw the
tears
in his
eyes
starting to spill on to his cheeks. "Oh my
God!
I'm ... so ... sorry ..." I said, "please
forgive
me. I didn't mean ...". "It's alright" he interrupted, "it's just so
(expletive deleted) unfair.". And then I thought to myself
"He's not telling
the truth:
it's obviously not alright.".

I've qualified for permanent residence in five countries: Great
Britain,
South Africa,
France,
New Zealand,
and the United States of America. I'm a citizen of two: Great Britain
and the United States of America (so I'm a dual national). Yet
I've never been called on to put on a uniform for any of them or to
serve
in any of their armed
services.
That's not because I've avoided doing so or dodged them.
It's that I've never been conscripted or drafted by any of them. And on
the one occasion I did register to
serve
in
South Africa,
my application was declined because I wasn't a
South African
citizen (my brother Brandon David "Bang" Platt, on the other hand, a
South African
citizen, was conscripted and
served
in the
South African
air
force).

I'm deeply grateful to those who do
serve
and to those veterans who haveserved.
It's beyond any stretch of my
imagination
to even
consider
what it must be like to see active engagement. That's one thing. But
then to come home requiring medical care, only to
die
(as many veterans do)
waiting
in line for months if not longer to be seen by a doctor or
a specialist. He's so right: it is so (expletive deleted)
unfair. It just doesn't
work.
We fail our vets.

So I said to him
"Listen:
I really want to thank you for what you've done, and for what you've
sacrificed for us, your country. I want you to know I'm deeply
grateful to you. It's a terrible job you took on. Yet
until we figure out a better
way
of managing our international conflicts, someone's got to
do it. And I'm
clear
people like me are fortunate enough to not have to do it
because people like you have courageously taken it on. So
I want you to know I just can't thank you enough
personally.
In fact none of us can ever thank you enough
personally,
Sir!". And then I made myself stop talking and be
quiet
so what I'd said had
time
to sink in.

Forewarned, I expected he may shed some more
tears.
Instead the exact opposite
happened:
the
tears
stopped, his lips pursed ... then his
eyeslit up,
and he looked over at me not saying anything, just staring directly
into my
eyes.
We stood like that for a moment or two, sudsy razors in hand at our
sides, not saying anything.

That was it. That was the entire exchange. I haven't seen him again
since. To be sure, he's probably a regular at my gym. Yet there's no
guarantee we'll work out at the same time. But if we do
happen
to find ourselves there together at the same time again, I'll share
with him that what he revealed for me (which is to say I'll share with
him that what our encounter shaving at the sinks in the gym
locker room
revealed for me) was over and beyond everything else, what really makes
a difference for our veterans is to be respected, admired,
acknowledged, and thanked. Thank a vet. It won't necessarily
fix
any physical injuries they've incurred. But it will let them know
you know. To be sure, you can also make a difference by voting
whenever the matter of how we take care of our veterans is on the
ballot, and of course you can also
write
your congresswoman or congressman. But the very least you
can do is thank a vet.